


Dark Side of Your Room

by jewboykahl



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, HAPPY BIRTHDAY STAN, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl
Summary: Kenny and Stan are suspicous of their feelings for one another, both hoping their love is returned. During Stan's 18th Birthday celebration, he finally obtains the courage to address the elephant in the room.
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	Dark Side of Your Room

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in part for Stan's Birthday and for stenny week (though i'm gonna be so so bad with updating anything bc SCHOOL)  
> Thanks so much to Tweekscoffeebean for beta'ing this work! I hope u enjoy my self-indulgent birthday fic for our sweet baby stanley (-:
> 
> also if u listen to Dark Side of Your Room by all time low it may or may not enhance ur experience

Saturday nights should be so much more interesting than they are for Kenny, although they had been consistently consumed by work since the ripe age of ten years old. City Wok’s clientele had been dwindling to a handful of customers a night given the modernization of their previously cheap, quiet town attracting the locals to more upscale eateries with admittedly much better food and service. Although Kenny liked to think of himself as a delicacy of his own, the residence of his hometown clearly did not agree, as there is currently a total of two of them dining in.

After a solid half hour of completely zoning out—quite literally watching time tick away on the decorative clock above the door—he decides to make himself somewhat useful and begin completing the dishes. He traces into the back room and props the door ajar with a slab of wood, giving himself a view of the entrance to account for the unlikely event of a visitor coming for a nine o’clock City Chicken fix.

Only a few more moments pass before he is nearly done spraying multiple pans and dunking them in sanitizer water. Kenny is forced to continuously flick his head to keep the blond waves from dipping into his line of sight, rendering him very aware of his desperate need for a trim. He thinks he’ll ask his cosmetology enthusiast friend, Bebe, to snip his bangs tomorrow as he scrubs stubborn rice from a pan. He then allows him mind to wonder to what life would be like if his family could afford for him to not bust his ass constantly. He misses game night with his friends and barely remembers what it feels like to relax.

The chime of the bell indicating a customer pulls him from these semi-depressing thoughts, and he quickly tugs off the bright, yellow gloves. Kenny rushes out to greet the guest he assumes is a pothead, given the time of night. When he reaches the register, he is pleasantly surprised to find a familiar presence leaning against the counter. He audibly sighs in relief, pressing his palms to opposite side of the counter. “Dude,” he greets Stan, “Thank god. Tonight has been a fuckin’ nightmare.”

Stan grants him a grin, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle and Kenny’s chest tighten. Nearly every week during the summer and when football was out of season Stan would grace him with a visit during a shift. Kenny always wondered how his friend knew exactly when he craved company the most, consistently showing up on those supremely boring nights when he had accomplished all of his closing tasks painfully early and Mr. Kim was not there to rant about something nonsensical. He had been coming ever since he noticed the sadness the clouded Kenny’s eyes when he was forced to reject an invitation to hang out due to being scheduled illegally as a member of his boss’s child labor force.

“You say that every single time I show up.” He accuses, his blue stare fixed at the City Wok menu displayed above Kenny’s head.

The fact that Stan continuously went out of his way to spend time with Kenny despite his prior engagements was a major aspect of their relationship that made him realize his romantic affections for him. Other friends had occasionally shown up to pay him a visit and purchase food, but Stan was a reoccurring, reliable visitor. It had meant the world to him and had be ongoing for years then. That, and ever since puberty hit, Stan’s presence, touch, and attention had begun to make him feel clammy and paranoid yet warm and content. It took him years to acknowledge these feelings, and since he confronted them only within his mind, he had been actively repressing them.

Despite what he had perceived as his unrequited love for his friend, Stan remained his favorite person to spend time with and look at. It seemed like each day there was a new feature to admire, from his button nose to his perpetually disheveled black hair to his semi-muscular build that was sculped by working out with the football team and playing the sport itself to even his fingertips and ears. While there was an undeniable solemnity that came along with being in love with your best friend, there also came the joy of watching from the sidelines as they ignited the world around them with their beauty. Kenny was generally satisfied to merely be a _classmate_ of Stan’s.

“That’s ‘cause this job’s a fuckin’ nightmare,” Kenny emphasizes his point with raised eyebrows, immediately dropping them to inquire, “What bring you here tonight?”

Stan shrugs, attention momentarily captured by a couple retreating from the establishment, rendering the place completely empty besides the two boys. He clicks his tongue when he recalls the subject of their conversation, “I was working on that English essay for a solid two hours before I realized I’m fucking illiterate and decided to come see you.”

Kenny pushes away the thoughts eating at him to analyze _why_ Stan had chosen to make the journey all the way across town to see him when Kyle’s residence was directly adjacent to his. He smirks, nods, “You have come to the right place, as I am also illiterate.”

Puffing out a sigh, the dark-haired boy shakes his head and pushes himself into an upright position, “I could just give a shit less about this topic, dude. I cannot make myself write about a psychoanalysis of Holden Caulfield.”

“I don’t know, is it just me, or does he seem kind of hot to you?” Kenny poses, half-joking.

Stan narrows his dark eyebrows, “What?”

Kenny shrugs, “I dunno, man, you either see it or you don’t.”

“You don’t _see_ anything, it’s a fucking book, Ken,” Stan chuckles, shaking his head, “What about a whiney teenager whining about how lame his does it for you?”

“I mean, I’m in love with you, so,” Kenny shrugs, definitely not joking, although Stan takes it as such.

“Fuck off,” Stan rolls his eyes. “Actually, if I sound anything like that kid, just go ahead and shoot me now.”

“C’mon, he’s not that bad. Plus, psychoanalyzing him is easy. He’s a neglected rich kid that doesn’t give a fuck about behaving or schoolwork because he knows his folks will just move him schools. And, he’s definitely gay, so that’s a big no-no in the 50’s. Lots of repression, so little time,”

“First of all, can you repeat that so I can write about it?” Stan alludes to one of Kenny’s outbursts of brilliance before addressing the more controversial take on the main character from their assigned reading, “And why do you think he’s gay?”

Kenny laughs, claiming the empty counterspace Stan had left behind as a seat for himself. “He straight up called another guy _sexy_. And if that wasn’t enough, he hired a hooker, then was like, ‘Uh, why don’t we just talk’, and then didn’t fuck her or even try to. If that isn’t gay panic, then I have no idea what is.”

After a loud laugh at Kenny’s interpretation, Stan shrugs, “First of all, you have a point, and second of all, I barely read it, so that’s part of my problem.”

Kenny snorts, adjusting his apron for comfort, “Just plagiarize Kyle’s essay.”

“Usually I can guilt him into letting me,” Stan agrees, “Especially since it’s my birthday next week.”

Lighting up at the mention of what is essentially a holiday to him, the blond grants him lazy, narrow-eyed smile, “My present for you is way better than an essay, by the way.”

He was supremely excited for Stan to open the gift he had thought of and ordered months ago, a full-scale replica of the “Cones of Dunshire” board game from _Parks and Recreation_ —combining Stan’s love for the show and his obsession with board games. While Kenny doesn’t particularly care for either, he know Stan will freak out.

“You guys don’t actually have to get me anything anymore, dude. I’m gonna be eighteen. Nothing exciting about that,” Stan grumbles at the thought.

“S’not so bad,” Kenny assures him. He’s very aware of Stan’s constant existential dread that always spikes around mid-October. “You can buy your own cigarettes, lottery tickets, and wait another three years to unlock alcohol.” Kenny winces at the mention of Stan’s former vice, “Sorry, I’m just kiddin’,”

Stan grins graciously at him, waving him off, “Are you gonna be able to come to the party?”

Party was a strong word for what Stan wants to do to celebrate his birthday; Kyle, Cartman, Butters, and himself are invited to stay over and enjoy pizza and video games at his dad’s farmhouse outside of town. Kenny was considerably surprised he did not opt to stay with his mother in South Park for his special day considering the steady hatred he had harbored for the man since he was… born. His parents had split up when the boys were eleven, the divorce directly followed by Stan taking a two-year break from interacting with his father outside of custody-allotted weekend sessions. As time went on and their relationship somewhat mended, Stan continued to stay weekends at Tegridy Farms despite the fact that the legality of his weekend visits had dissipated—though, he still strongly preferred his mother’s cozy ranch a few streets away from Kenny’s house.

“Hell yeah, I called off weeks ago. Couldn’t miss you finally becoming a man,” 

Stan rolls his eyes, “Whatever, dude. The only thing I’m worried about is my stupid dad trying to sell you guys his stupid _Birthday Special_ ,”—he sends an annoyed glare Kenny’s way—“and succeeding with some of you.”

“Dude, it is not my fault that it’s good shit. Plus, most of it was for my parents.”

“Yeah, your bloodshot ass eyes the next day told a different story, asshole.”

“Love you,” Kenny reminds him with a cheeky wink.

“Dude, why do you keep saying that?” Stan chuckles. Though his tone was jesting and there was no ill-intent in the question, it made Kenny’s spirits drop. His resting smarmy smile fell off his face as if Stan had just slapped him. Immediately noticing this vexed response, he attempts to amend, “I mean, obviously I love you, too, dude, it just seems like you’ve been saying it a lot to me lately,”

“No, you’re right, sorry,” Kenny tells him, a terribly fake smile curling his lips.

“Ken—I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to sound like a tool.”

“You can’t help it, man. It’s your super power,” The blond manages to regain his footing in the lull of the conversation.

Stan sighs sadly but accepts that this is the end of the discussion when Kenny’s carefree demeanor returns. He pushes forward, “Tweek said he’s gonna bring cupcakes for me on Friday,”

“Fuck yes, dude,” Kenny moans at the thought of their friend’s incredible baking skills.

The two talk and laugh until Kenny’s shift is over, and then begin the journey back to their homes. Though he appreciates the company, Kenny cannot get Stan’s question out of his mind, and how deeply Stan had inadvertently cut him. If that comment alone effectively caused a burning hole in his chest, what else was he capable of?

Kenny thought of pushing those feelings down by trying to find some girl or guy to hook up with. Reminding himself that he tried this in the past, he accepts that it wouldn’t really work, and instead he chain smokes alone in his back yard, feeling extra sorry for himself and very pathetic for loving Stan as much as he does.

_

Stan stares at himself in the mirror. He is on minute thirty of scrutinizing his appearance, though he knows for a fact it won’t matter. He’s wearing a typical outfit—plain, grey hoodie beneath a navy and orange Von Miller jersey, dark wash skinny jeans adorning his legs. He’s grateful that his black hair had recently been cut and was behaving for once.

He is eighteen today; he’s a man now, so they say. That doesn’t make what he’s about to do any easier.

Stan lets out a drawn-out breath through ‘O’ shaped lips before muttering to his reflection, “I like you.”

He repeats this phrase like an incantation, inwardly praying if he practices enough it will guarantee a positive response. It’s his birthday, after all—he deserves a win.

“I like you.” He huffs again, this time instantly realizing how dumb this is. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disgust at himself, “Fucking Kenny,”

“Stan!” The all-too familiar sound of his father’s bellowing cuts into his self-loathing session. “Your friends are here!”

Stomach tied in knots, he exits the restroom and ambles down the hall. He’s greeted by sarcastic claps and whoops from his four friends, who are all carrying something: Kyle has chips and dip, Cartman has a Hello Kitty balloon, Butters has a six-pack of his favorite cream soda, and Kenny has a box wrapped in Hello Kitty wrapping paper.

Stan squints, “What’s up with the Hello Kitty shit?”

“This is what happens when you put this queermo on decoration duty,” Cartman grunts, pointing a finger at Butters.

The tiny, blond Butters giggles, “I just thought it’d be funny, is all, Stan!”

“It’s hilarious, Butters,” Stan assures him, then nods his head to Kenny’s box, “Wrapping paper was a nice touch.”

“Oh, he just had this already,” Kenny informs him dryly as he approaches Stan. A lump forms in his throat when he’s blessed with a side-hug that allows him to breathe in Kenny’s scent: Axe Phoenix (stolen from his brother) and cigarette smoke. He wishes he could bottle it up and spray it on everything he owns. “Happy Birthday, ya filthy animal,”

“I ordered you a bunch of stickers from Redbubble but they’re fucking slower than shit, so, that’s why only Kenny has something for you,” Kyle explains, frustration from the slow delivery evident in his tone (though, frustration is _always_ evident in his tone).

Stan smiles sweetly at Kenny, who manages a wink before Kyle steals his attention by showing him the order he placed. Blinking at the iPhone screen, still half-dizzy from his blond crush’s presence, he considers the depictions of the stickers in Kyle’s inventory for him. He laughs at each, his favorite being a Club Penguin character with a speech bubble reading ‘Eat the rich’ above its head. “Thanks, Ky. You brought chips, though, so, I forgive you.”

“Stan, I’m going to get the pizza,” Randy announces over their conversations, plopping a straw hat on his head, “Do you boys need anything else?”

Stan shakes his head, “No, we’re cool, dad.”

“Did you take your hemp oil?”

“Bye, dad.”

“Stan, you know it helps—”

“ _Bye_ , dad.”

With that, the man stepped out the door. Stan watches in annoyance for a moment as the man lights up a joint, but his attention is quickly brought back to the ‘party’ by Cartman taking a turn to shove a phone in his face, “Stan, seriously, look at this video,”

They view a few hilarious videos together as Butters and Kyle set up the snacks they brought. After Stan enjoys a few salsa-covered tortilla chips, Kenny addresses him again, “Open my gift whenever you want. You’re an adult now, so you make the decision.”

“You can also legally use swear words, Stan,” Butters adds jokingly.

Kyle rolls his eyes, though his grin is endearing, “What’d your dad get you, dude?”

“Tegridy Farms hemp oil,” Stan speaks through a mouthful of chip. He chews and swallows before continuing, “He says it’s supposed to help with my anxiety.”

Cartman creases his eyebrows, “I thought you had depression.”

“I fucking do,” His sardonic tone earns him an empathetic grin from Kenny, and Cartman’s bluntness earns him a warning glare from Kyle.

“Do you like the wrapping?” Butters inquires, half-sputtering, uncomfortable with the topic.

Stan nods, tearing into the cartoon cat-decorated paper, “For sure.”

“Thanks for comin’ in clutch, Leo,” Kenny says, reaching a fist over for his fellow blond to pound.

When the ridiculous wrapping finally comes off, Stan’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit, dude!” he exclaims when he sees the board game created by a character from his favorite television show. “Where the hell did you find this?!”

“Woah, is that Cones of Dunshire?!” Kyle asks, equally impressed.

“A very bored Parks and Rec fan on Etsy,” A very proud Kenny reveals. When Stan flicks his eyes up to meet Kenny’s honey brown stare, he inquires, “Like it?”

“Love it, dude! Thank you!”

Forgetting how borderline arousing hugging Kenny is now, Stan wraps his arms around his friend’s neck, gratitude overflowing within him. The gift was so beyond thoughtful and amazing, he can’t help himself. Thankfully for his poor pining heart, Kenny returns the gesture with a firm squeeze around his middle. Suddenly, his underwear is tighter when Kenny’s whispered response falls against his ear, “Anything for you.”

They pull away, and Stan curses his pallor complexion, absolutely positive his cheeks are rosy. He panders to the other members of the small congregation of friends, “Do you guys wanna play?”

“Um, no,” Cartman is the first to deny the invitation, “We’re supposed to be having an Among Us marathon.”

“We could play it later, though!” Kyle announces, which only reveals that he sides with Cartman.

Kenny chimes in, “Guys, it’s Stan’s birthday, let’s play his new game,”

“Well, honestly, fellas, I don’t know how! It seems awful complicated on the show,” Butters offers his comments.

Stan digs into the box in search of directions. All the pieces look identical to what the fictional Ben Wyatt had created in his boredom, and the prospect of learning the intricacies of another board game excite him (which he knows is really nerdy, but clearly Kenny has accepted him for it, and that’s all that matters). After a few minutes of him reading through the guidelines of the game, Kenny also reading over his shoulder, Kyle, Cartman, and Butters are already on their second Among Us game.

Stan gives in and goes a few rounds with the rest of the group before devouring the pizza upon Randy’s arrival with the three boxes of pepperoni and one box of cheese for Stan. Half of the time his father forgets that his son is vegetarian, so he’s extremely grateful when’s able to sink his teeth into the meatless delicacy. Kenny shares it with him, as well as a few cream sodas.

After dinner, Stan tries his luck again, “So, you guys wanna start Cones of Dunshire now?”

“We’re not playing your gay board game, Stan. Why in the hell do you still want to play boardgames when Kyle brought his Switch and we can play a game on our phones?”

Stan narrows his eyes at his overweight companion, “We play Super Smash Bros and Among Us every weekend! C’mon, guys!”

Kyle is hesitant to pick a side, and Butters is still trying to decide what hat he should put on his icon for the forthcoming round. Kenny stands up, grabbing the box with him, and making the unanimous decision for them all, “Whoever wants to play Cones of Dunshire, we’re going to Stan’s room. Anyone else, fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too, Kenny,” Cartman grunts, “Fuckin’ asshole.”

Kenny makes an obscene gesture at him, pulling a cackle from Stan as the pair jogs down the hall of the farmhouse to Stan’s bedroom.

Over the years, Stan has made the medium sized, perfectly square room his own. A twin bed with a plain, navy comforter was shoved in the corner, and the wall beside it was decorated with pendants representing the holy trinity of Colorado teams—Nuggets, Broncos, and Rockies. A desk littered with listlessly completed homework assignments and a few therapist-recommended diaries full of his angsty foreboding resided on the other side of the room. On the wall above it was a corkboard with memorabilia from his life: concert and homecoming tickets, a ribbon from the South Park Pinewood Derby, a few snapshots from childhood, and a few recent Polaroids of him and his friends. Anytime Kenny entered the bedroom, he glanced over at the board to make sure the Polaroid that depicted himself pinching Stan’s cheeks in both of his hands as the two smiled at one another was still there.

“We totally don’t have to play this, dude,” Stan speaks up after a minute of sorting through the game pieces, suddenly feeling very lame.

Kenny peers up at his face, remaining reclined on his flattened palms against the carpet. He’s also clad in his usual attire, a black pullover sweatshirt with a faded NASCAR logo and khaki cargo shorts. Stan can see the outline of his pack of cigarettes in his thigh pocket and does not know why he finds that detail attractive to him. “Dude, it’s your birthday! You call the shots.”

“I know it is, but that doesn’t mean we have to hide out in my room to play a stupid game,”

“Glad you like your present, dickhead,” Stan sends him a glare, knowing Kenny is joking. The blond continues, “Plus, Cartman won’t stop targeting Kyle when he’s the imposter, so it’s not even a mystery who it is.”

“Very true,” Stan concedes. Another bought of silence passes over them, and his heart is racing now. _I like you_ , he thinks to Kenny. He wishes he could read his mind so he wouldn’t have to confess this aloud.

Stan is pretty sure Kenny feels the same, but he isn’t absolutely positive. He had been noticing for a while that his eyes had begun to linger the same was his own did; he detected the quick, desperate brushes of the hand or arm at any given opportunity. Kenny had been gentler and more affectionate towards him than anyone else their entire lives, but it had begun to feel different—intentional. Or, all of that was wishful thinking and he’s about to destroy a life-long friendship.

He can’t help himself. Not knowing has been absolutely killing him for ages.

A typical banter begins between the two, and Stan passes up multiple opportunities to start the conversation that had been weighing heavy on his mind. _Hey, can we talk about something?_ He thinks. _Hey, I like you._

“Stanley,” Kenny’s voice finally makes it into his consciousness.

“Yeah? What? Sorry,” All three answers are given in rapid succession, wide blue eyes wondering where they had been.

Kenny sends him a lazy smile. “You with me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Stan repeats, looking down. He notices his hands are trembling like he’s ingested too much caffeine. Feeling this nervous about the endeavor catches him by surprise. Kenny is his best friend—why was he so terrified of him? “I guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“What’s up?” Kenny perks his head to the side, an expression of genuine concern stiffening his handsome features.

Stan allows himself a moment to study his face. He’s pale like him, but he has perfect, tiny little freckles decorating his nose and cheeks. Kenny had recently pierced his lip on a whim, and when he first saw it he wanted to writhe around on the ground—he still loves it. His eyes light brown are full of generosity and unspoken wisdoms.

“Stan, what is wrong?”

He’s confused until he feels the tear fall from his eyelash after blinking hard. _Fuck, you’re such a pussy_ , he reprimands himself internally, dashing his head to the side to block the concerned gaze from Kenny. “Sorry… this is so fucking lame.”

“Hey, c’mere,” the blond coaxes him into a comforting embrace. His nose awkwardly rests against his bony shoulder. His eyes shut, taking in that scent he loves. Kenny whispers, “You’re okay.”

“Can I ask you something?” Stan blurts after a moment of silence and hugging to pull himself back together.

Kenny leans back so their eyes make contact. Stan wishes he hadn’t, as it makes his breath hitch. His friend nods, “Yeah, what the hell is going on?”

Stan lets out a soft laugh. It’s funny how much he hates his unreliable emotional reactions to _everything_. He breathes out, his body on autopilot, shutting his brain out of the decision-making process, “Do you remember last week at City Wok? When I asked you why you kept saying that you love me?”

Effectively caught off guard by Stan’s words, Kenny nods. He doesn’t say anything, seemingly taking on his own bought of nerves. Stan continues, not any more tactful with his follow up, “What do you mean by ‘love’?”

Kenny’s silent for a minute. Quiet, shy Kenny was not the version of himself that Stan is close with— _in love_ with. His mind is racing, begging to hear a response from the beautiful blond boy that is constantly winking at him and making him feel like gravity doesn’t exist.

“Can I answer your question with a question?” Finally, he says, but Stan remains dissatisfied. Kenny does it anyway, “Why do you always come to visit me at work?”

“Because, I—” Stan’s eyebrows meet when he considers the return of Kenny’s sly smile, dimples deeply indented in his cheeks. He scoffs, “Why do you always hug me so tight?”

“Why do you blush when I hug you so tight?”

It’s a battle now, but Stan is feeling much lighter. He has his answer, so he plays along. “Why do you always pinch my cheeks?”

Kenny’s smile has widened, working with their facetious exchange to increase his heartrate, “Why do you always sit next to me?”

“Why do you wink at me all the time?”

There was a pause after this question, Kenny seemingly running out of ways to expose Stan’s gay panic. He wets his lip, and Stan watches in awe as he pink tongue darts across the black piece of metal. He says, “Why aren’t we kissing right now?”

“No fucking clue,” Stan finally allows himself to release that breath he had inadvertently been holding in his lungs.

Kenny leans into him again, this time wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck and guiding his mouth to his. When their lips meet, Stan sucks in a harsh breath through his nose and instinctively grabs for Kenny’s elbow. Neither can believe how perfectly they fit into one another, and how long it had taken them to finally take this leap of faith that lead to something so real and passionate.

The two shift, Stan raising his hand to find the back of Kenny’s head. He has had endless fantasies about embedding his fingers in those tantalizingly unkempt waves of sunshine hair for so long, that doing it in real time makes his heart slam harshly against his chest. Kenny’s curious, calloused hands explore Stan’s skin, having slipped beneath the layers adoring his torso. The hairs on his back stick straight up with the warm feeling. All the while, their lips slid along one another’s in perfect sync.

“Well, fuck,” Kenny wheezes after an absurdly long first kiss with Stan.

Stan nods in agreement, still dizzy from everything about what had just happened to him. He licks his lips and tastes Kenny’s ChapStick. He loves it.

“So, you gotta crush on me?” Kenny whispers, cheeky smile curling his lips.

Stan pins him with a faux exasperated glare. He says, “Something like that.”

The two share a few more sweet, overdue kisses before Stan finds the strength to reveal, “Kenny… I like you.” Just like he had rehearsed, albeit much later in the interaction than he intended.

“Well, Stan, as you so eagerly pointed out earlier,” Kenny pauses, the gleam of zeal remaining as his lips and eyebrows form a sincere expression. He swallows, says, “I love you.”

“I love you,” He repeats. Beyond grateful to be able to say these words and receive them, he peppers kisses to Kenny’s cheeks and lips.

“Shit, baby, if I knew board games turned you on so much, I’d’ve bought you a couple more.”

Stan laughs, a blissful noise to his new lover. “I don’t know, dude. I don’t wanna sleep with someone who just goes around kissing his friends.”

“With friends like _you_ , who needs friends,” Kenny drawls, shutting his eyes and kissing him again.

They don’t stop making out until the shadows of nightfall darken Stan’s previously naturally lit room. This alerts them that they should probably rejoin the others, though staying in the solitude and darkness of Stan’s room is tempting.

“Don’t worry, birthday boy,” Kenny whispers as they head back to the family room, where an argument between Kyle and Cartman becomes audible. His lips brush against Stan’s ear, fully this time, “I’ve got another present for you later.”

Stan’s knees are jelly as he traces behind Kenny. They claim empty seats on opposite sides of the room, though their eyes never separate. Kenny was absolutely right—being eighteen wasn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> im honestly sorry for constantly referencing other tv shows i like but i cannot help myself /: I’m like abed from community   
> there i go again🤭  
> thank you so much for reading!!! <3


End file.
